Composing Hallelujah
by Agent Otter
Summary: We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him?"


Title: Composing Hallelujah  
  
Author: Otter  
  
Date: 9/15/2003  
  
Email: agentotter@earthlink.net  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairings: Jack/Daniel  
  
Category: Angst, First Time, Friendship, Comfort  
  
Season/Episode: Season 7, no particular episode  
  
Spoilers: Late season 6 (which I haven't seen), regarding Junior or lack thereof  
  
Warnings: Character death  
  
Summary: "We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him?"  
  
Notes: My undying devotion goes to salieri, who is both smarter and more talented than me. If she told me to kree, I definitely would.  
  
Disclaimer: If I were in charge, there'd be more sex and nudity, and Daniel would spend his time at my house. For safekeeping, naturally.  
  
"We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence." - Joseph Roux  
  
Daniel gets up in the morning, brushes his teeth, goes jogging, and eats breakfast with one eye on CNN but his mind somewhere else entirely. In the afternoon, he'll be travelling to an alien planet, but that's not until 1300 -- one o'clock, he corrects himself, one o'clock -- so he takes his time, lingers over toast and eggs and pancakes that he barely remembers cooking. He takes a shower that's uncomfortably cold, then pulls on worn jeans and an oversized sweater.  
  
He leaves the apartment and has to come back three times: first for socks and shoes, because he's forgotten them, then his glasses, which he left on the bathroom counter, and finally his keys from the hall table. When he rushes out the door the last time, he nearly collides with Sam, who's standing outside with her hand raised to knock. She steps back just in time to avoid being run over, and smiles at him with the kind of weary, strained, but somehow heartfelt smile that they've both been wearing since yesterday.  
  
"Hi, Daniel," she says, and then she makes an abortive movement toward him, as if she was about to hug him but thought better of it.  
  
He reaches out instead, snags one jacket-covered arm, tugs her closer and wraps his arms around her slender body, holding her tight against his chest. "Hi, Sam," he answers, against her ear. Her hair is still just slightly damp, and it smells of citrus. Her arms return his embrace, tentatively at first, then fiercely, squeezing his waist. He wonders if he's always loved her this much, or if the feeling has simply expanded to try to bridge the gaps left by the absence of another friend.  
  
"Ready to go?" Sam says, releasing him with obvious reluctance, sliding fingers down his forearm, giving his hand a parting touch.  
  
"Yeah," he says. He locks the door behind him, and they walk together down the stairwell and out of the building. The day is just beginning to warm up with the morning sun, but there's little movement in the neighborhood; the commuters have already left in their caravan of respectable sedans and the kids have been carted off to school in minivans. A solitary dog barks from somewhere up the street, sounding very alone, and Daniel sympathizes.  
  
The only living thing in view is Jack, leaning against the side of Sam's car, staring off down the street and not even noticing their arrival. He finally looks at them when they draw too close to be ignored, and he gives Daniel one long, assessing look. He doesn't offer up a smile like Sam did, or make a move to touch either of them. He just nods to them and climbs into the passenger seat.  
  
Sam touches Daniel's hand again, gives him a look that begs for silence. Daniel doesn't need the prompt; they all seem to assume that he's always oblivious to what's happening around him, but Daniel knows better than anyone what Jack needs right now. Daniel nods solemnly to Sam as she rounds the car to the driver's seat, and he climbs into the back himself, into the seat behind Jack's.  
  
The drive stretches out, the sort of interminable journey that seems to take place entirely outside the bounds of space and time. None of them mind; they're not eager to stop moving and let things catch up with them. On a length of winding mountain road, Daniel leans forward, rests his forehead against the back of Jack's seat as if he's tired. He slips a hand around the side of the seat, where Sam can't see, and his fingers ghost just under Jack's jacket, touching the faint outlines of ribs, then laying a warm palm flat against his t-shirt. Jack sighs faintly, a sound that feels like relief, and Daniel withdraws his touch again, settling back against his own seat.  
  
Sam stops the car at the side of the road near a trailhead, and they hike up slowly, taking their time. They cluster close on the path, letting bodies bump and knuckles slide together as if by accident. It only takes them ten minutes to reach the clearing, and the little fire pit ringed by stones that bears the waxy remains of candles.  
  
"He used to come up here," Sam says, quietly, breaking the silence. "After he started on the treatment, when he couldn't kel-no-reem like he used to anymore. He said it was very peaceful."  
  
Daniel smiles, stands next to Jack and lets the backs of their hands meet. "I think he meant 'peaceful' in that Jack would have to go pretty far out of his way to bother him up here."  
  
Jack smiles back, acknowledging the truth, then acknowledges another by moving his hand to meet Daniel's palm to palm, weaving their fingers together. Sam doesn't notice or just doesn't comment; she's scraping the old wax from the ring of stones, setting out new candles and piling some brittle kindling in the middle of the pit to start a fire. Jack and Daniel drift apart reluctantly, gathering dry branches from the ground, and pinecones, and brush that will burn. They make a neat pile in the fire pit and Sam lights it, and the candles, with a book of matches.  
  
"You know," Daniel says, when they've all moved back a little to watch their merrily flickering little fire, "on Chulak, the dead are cremated on huge funeral pyres, so that everyone will see the flames and smoke from miles around, and know that an honored Jaffa has died." He pauses, then says, "When Jaffa rebel, they're not just throwing away their masters, they're throwing away their entire religions. I wonder if any of them still believe in an afterlife. I never thought to ask."  
  
Jack's hand slides up over Daniel's back to rest on his shoulder, a reassuring weight, even though the fingers dig into the dip of soft flesh above the collarbone. In Jack's other hand, there's a neatly folded triangle of cloth that Hammond presented to Jack yesterday at the military ceremony, down in the embarkation room.  
  
They all look at the fire. Sam says, "Maybe somebody should say something before we..." Her voice trails off.  
  
Jack says, "Like what?" and none of them can think of anything, even Daniel, who's always lived -- and occasionally died -- by the words he conjures up.  
  
So they don't say anything else, and Jack steps closer to the fire, only long enough to carefully place the tightly bundled American flag into the center of the flames. It resists the lick of flames for a moment before succumbing, as all things do, to the inevitable drag of time and physics. They stand until there's nothing left of the flag but ash, and a wordless, loving eulogy in the form of thin gray smoke, drifting away on the breeze. Then they carefully extinguish the fire with the bottle of water that Sam brought with her. She blows out the candles, too, lets them cool and then packs them away in her bag again. There are no words between them as they shuffle their way back down the trail to the car.  
  
She drops them both off at Daniel's apartment and then drives away on her own. As they walk up the stairs to Daniel's floor, Jack wonders what Sam will do in the empty hours before embarkation. She might sit alone in her darkened living room clutching a cushion to her chest and crying. She might go over to Fraiser's house, have one of those long heart-to-hearts they're so fond of. Maybe she even has someone to go to who'll offer the kind of refuge that Daniel is about to offer to him.  
  
Inside the apartment, they can touch each other. Daniel is the one to begin it, with his hand on Jack's cheek. Jack remembers touching him this way, before, once when he had thought he'd never see his friend again. He remembers thinking at the time that it wasn't fair that peaceful, gentle Daniel should be the one gunned down, when Jack and Teal'c and even Carter had seen so many sorties, so many skirmishes and wars, and emerged more or less intact. The memory twists a hook of guilt in his gut, that he might've thought it would hurt any less to lose Teal'c in battle than to lose Daniel. It didn't; each injury hurt as much as the other had, reaching that threshold beyond which no more pain could be felt.  
  
Daniel's hand slipping around to cup the back of his neck draws Jack back to the present. The fingertips press, softly, comfort and question wrapped up in the same movement. Daniel looks at him, a little quizzically, and says, "Okay?"  
  
Jack nods and leans in, swiftly, before he loses his nerve. He presses his lips against Daniel's, chaste but intense. They try again, and it's more this time, tongues sliding together; Jack thinks that he's never tasted heat like Daniel's mouth. His hands rest on Daniel's waist, then crawl up a little, underneath the hem of the thick sweater to touch bare skin. Daniel shudders; Jack's fairly certain it's a good reaction, and they shuffle together slowly toward the bedroom. The clothes they shed lie abandoned and useless in their wake, a silent acknowledgement that no form of armor or camouflage would make any of them invincible.  
  
Daniel's body is hot and solid and immediate, comfortable and safe. Jack holds onto him as if some invisible tide will sweep them apart if he lets go, and Daniel clutches back just as tightly. They both come, warm and panting, locked against each other, as close as they can be without crawling inside each other's skin. Then they just lay together, still and silent, trying very hard to think of nothing at all except the way Jack's skin feels under Daniel's fingers, and how Daniel's heart sounds when Jack presses an ear to his chest.  
  
Eventually, by silent mutual agreement, they disentangle themselves and stumble out of bed, sharing a too-hot shower, and Jack decides that he likes not just the sensation but the entire concept and context of Daniel spreading foamy soap onto Jack's body with his hands. He likes the other touching, too: letting his fingers brush against Daniel's thigh, nudging their hips together, the pleasing pressure of Daniel's hand on his back. When they finally emerge, they dry themselves with fluffy towels and then follow the trail of clothes, gathering them up and slipping them back on.  
  
"You've got a suit at the SGC?" Jack asks, watching Daniel tug the sweater back on and wishing he could strip it off again.  
  
"In my locker," Daniel replies. Their eyes meet as he looks up, and Daniel says, "Are you okay?"  
  
Jack nods, and smiles a genuine smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks." His gratitude is genuine, too, and he doesn't pronounce the word with even the slightest bit of casual dismissal. "I was wondering..." he says, then hesitates; Daniel flashes him a grin, so he forges on. "I was wondering if, after we get back from Chulak, maybe you'd come over and stay at my place for the weekend."  
  
"Yeah," Daniel says. He pulls on his boots and lets out a frustrated little whuff of air when the laces choose not to cooperate. "I'd like that." When he gets the boots under control, he stands and pats his pockets, checking for keys. He looks distracted, but he still leans into Jack, pressing their lips together in a deliciously casual kiss. "We'd better get going," he mutters, against Jack's lips.  
  
"Yeah," Jack mutters back, stealing another kiss before they finally part.  
  
Daniel locks the door behind them, and they smile softly and jostle one another gently as they descend the stairs, on their way to light their brother's funeral pyre. 


End file.
